Albus Severus
by merrygreen
Summary: Albus Potter searches for answers after a deadly curse kills his brother.
1. Chapter 1

"Well he _is_ a Slytherin." Albus bristled at the disdain in the headmaster's voice. Always the first thing that jumped to people's minds. Slytherin. No, that was second. First would be "Harry Potter". Then Slytherin. Then maybe, if they got that far, Albus. Then they would remember the Severus that came after, and back they would go to Slytherin. Somewhere in the cycle he usually got lost.

"What! What does that have to do with anything!" His father's voice was indignant. Albus could imagine him almost on his feet, but not quite, like a beast ready to spring.

"This isn't his first offense, Mr. Potter. I just think we need to realize there's a bad apple in every barrel."

"Malfoy! He hangs out with Malfoy's kid, she put him up to it."

He cringed. It was just like his father to stamp the blame on someone else. Especially an easy target like Necrophilia Malfoy. She wouldn't hurt a fly, but all his father would ever see in her was Draco Malfoy. The likeness was startling, but it stopped at the external.

The headmaster actually laughed aloud. "Necrophilia Malfoy? If anyone's putting anyone up to anything, I'm afraid it would be your son, Mr. Potter. You need to talk to him about it. We won't tolerate many more marks until he's suspended."

"Suspended! What do you mean, suspended! He makes perfect grades, he's nearly head of his class. He just has – extra energy. I was just like him when I was in school; it's just restlessness."

"Yes, Mr. Potter, I am well aware of your escapades here. However, sneaking out at night and throwing around a few jinxes are one thing; defacing school property and harming classroom subjects are another. There is a dark streak in your son, Mr. Potter, and if you don't clean it up, I'm afraid I will have to."

Shame wriggled in his belly. A little magical graffiti wasn't that bad, he didn't think. But scorching Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts had been cruel. It had been easy to cap their tails, so the heat reverted inward. He had been morbidly curious. Maybe his father was right; maybe he was too restless. Or maybe something was wrong with him. It couldn't be normal, these almost overpowering urges to harm things. Maybe he had some sort of sick mental illness that would only be exasperated with time.

The office door swung open and he sprang to his feet, standing rigid, his head down as his father emerged. There was a long moment of silence before his father's disappointed sigh filled the silent hall.

"Albus. Skrewts? You blew up the skrewts?" He heard a hint of humor in his father's voice, and knew he was more amused than angry. It was pretty funny if you thought about it abstractly. Then the humor disappeared from his tone. "You heard Master Ellwood. Suspension if you act up again. Look at me, Albus!"

He raised his head, his eyes meeting his father's. He saw a flicker of shock cross his face, and knew all too well what had caused it. People had always said he had dark eyes. Deep brown, with the smallest hint of red. Dark russet he supposed the color was called. But sometimes he knew the reddish tint stood out, in the right light, or – more prominently and strangely – if he was emotionally upset.

But his father hid his disconcertion well. "Albus, I know you don't want to leave school. Do you?" He jerked his head, no. "Then you're going to have to try harder to follow the rules. Maybe there's something you can do to – to _constructively_ let out extra energy, or magic, or whatever it is that's bothering you. Maybe a sport. I know you're not much for Quidditch, but maybe another sport, or some sort of club that interests you. You're good at potions, and I know you have high marks in the Dark Arts class, why don't you look into that?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I will. I'll try."

"That's good." His father started to turn away, and Albus followed him. When they were out of hearing distance from the headmaster's door his father spoke again. "Are you still – you know – the dreams?"

He shook his head, his eyes riveted on the floor. He'd had nightmares for as long as he could remember, but none so vivid as the ones he'd been experiencing almost nightly for the past two months. Always different, but still always the same. The same dark, tall figure, shrouded in death's cloak, slits for nostrils, burning red eyes. Sometimes there was a snake, an enormous, twisting, suffocating serpent. Always there was fear, terror that woke him up and left him paralyzed in his bed until, finally, he remembered where he really was.

But his father didn't need to know. Albus knew it worried him, scared him. Because he knew who the figure in the dream was; a figure he had never seen. The same creature that had scarred his father's face and left the wizarding world in ruins.

He felt his father's eyes on him, pressing. He forced himself to look up, to briefly meet his eyes, so his father would believe. At last he nodded, looked away, lay his hand on Albus' shoulder.

"Alright. That's good. Just – be careful." Albus nodded. "Ok then. I'll be going. Stay out of trouble." He gave him a stern look, then a teasing smile flickered over his face and he turned and headed off down the hall. Albus went the other way.

Hogwarts was dark, the halls empty. It was pretty late, after seven. He'd always thought the castle eerie at night. Despite what everyone told him – teachers, other students, his father – he had never really felt safe there. Not at night. He knew strange things happened at night. Strange things always happened in darkness.

He headed down to the Hogwarts underground, down to what had been the dungeon when this had still been a real castle. Old magically burning torches lit the walls along the stairway. The air down here was cold, damp, heavy. It didn't seem right to him, that they were put down there. He reached the bottom of the stairs and began to pass down the rows of old pens. They were empty now, the gates left open and rotting. Just to the end of the row and then he would make the common room and there would be life and light again.

The feeling that he was being watched made his skin crawl. He shoved his hand into his wand pocket. His steps faltered. Suddenly a shadow rose out from one of the cells. He pulled the wand out, but he had learned by now to identify before he struck. It was only Necrophilia.

"Albus," she whispered, her voice soft and melodic even in one word. "It's just me. What happened?"

He lowered his wand and shrugged. "You know. My Dad just told me to straighten up. Ellwood mentioned suspension."

"Suspension? That's ridiculous. They were just skrewts!"

He pulled in a long breath. "And defacement of property and improper use of magic and the occasional physical altercation. It just adds up." He paused, looking at her through the flickering light. Her pale eyes seemed enormous, ghostly. He held his breath. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Phily." It rushed out in a shuddering sigh. "I'm afraid. It's like, sometimes, I can't control myself. Not like I lose my temper, but like I'm _not _myself. Like it's someone else pulling the strings."

She was silent for a moment. When she spoke again her voice was almost gone. "Are you still having the nightmares?" His head jerked up then down again, his gaze falling from hers. Her hand closed around his, cold, assuring. "I don't think your father takes you seriously. I think he isn't comfortable around you."

He shook his head. "No, he never has been. Not since I came here."

"You _are_ different, from the others."

"I guess." He shrugged, attempted a smile. "I can't stay on a broom."

She laughed aloud, the sound of it ringing through the empty room, making it almost bright. "Hey, let's go to the astronomy tower. I don't want to go to bed and I don't have any homework."

He grinned at her. She knew him like her own heart. "Sure."

_

* * *

The stars were wheeling above him. He was flying, free flying, no broom beneath him. His robes flowed about him, his hand, long and white and bone-thin, stretched out before him. His laugh, cold and cruel, burst into the night air. Then the gleeful command, the flash of green, the thrill of success. But no. It was ruined. His wand exploded in his hand, burning his dead flesh. He screamed in agony and hatred, tore away. He would kill him! He would – _

"Albus!" Her voice hissed in his ear, jerking him up. His heart was crashing against his chest so hard it hurt. Something was digging into his palm; he felt hot blood. He gasped, uncurling his fingers from his wand. His eyes flew to Necrophilia's. Her face was even more pale than usual. "Albus," she whispered, her wand brushing over his palm. "Episkey. You're eyes."

"What! Dammit! How – What happened?" he whispered. "What did I do?"

"I don't know, you just sort of went blank, like staring off, like you weren't here. I don't know."

He looked down at the paper before him, at his own scrawling handwriting. Confusion washed over him. What was this? "What are we doing?"

She looked at him, worry creasing her face. "Inferi, Albus. We're studying Inferi. Just the basics, you know, defense. But there haven't been any for nearly twenty years. It's no big deal."

He looked again at his notes. Necromancy. Inferius reanimation. He didn't know this, he didn't know how to create an inferius. But he did. He flipped the page over and his stomach twisted sickeningly. The rest of the page was full. He glanced at Necrophilia. She didn't seem to have noticed. He shoved the page into his bag and pulled out a clean sheet.

"Are you ok?" she whispered. He nodded hastily, taking a glance at her notes to see what he had missed. Not that he needed to. He knew everything about Inferi. "You look sick. I think you need to see Madame Pomtre. Your eyes are – you know. They're really, really bright, Albus. I've never seen you like this."

"No I'm fine, really." Suddenly a flash of red crossed his vision, his own reflection cast back by a mirror on the wall. His eyes were vivid, blood red. He gasped, his heart lurching in his chest.

"Albus, you've been cursed!"

"No, no, it's always been like this. If I'd been cursed my dad would know; he's the best auror there is."

She fell silent and he stole a glance at her; her face was set with worry. But there was nothing to worry about. Still, he couldn't dispel of the anxiety that squirmed in his gut. She was right. This wasn't right, it wasn't normal.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I just – I have a bad feeling. I mean, you've never been this bad. I'm just – just be careful."

"Ok. I will." Slowly he looked away. A moment later the bell rang for next class and they began to file out into the hall.

"See you," she said, attempting a smile, and disappeared into the growing crowd of students. For a moment Albus watched her go before he turned away to head to his next class. Something prickled in the back of his mind, something on the tip of his tongue. His hand slipped into his robe, curled around his wand. It tingled against his skin, hot, alive. He shook his head, let go.

* * *

It was warm outside, perfect spring weather, as though the earth were breathing its relief at the end of winter's long reign. Students milled around the courtyard and lawns, soaking up the sun's rays and the fresh air, knowing that such a reprieve from the season's rains could not last long. The sun was lowering over the lake, and an evening breeze rustled across Albus' Dark Arts notes. Pages and pages of them, all in vivid detail. Fiendfyre, petrification, horcrux, Unforgivable curses, the list went on. Most of these things he had no memory of, he knew they hadn't gone over in class. They were far too advanced for even most adult wizards. But he knew it all. He didn't know how, but he did. It was impossible, but frighteningly real.

"Albus." He gasped, jumping at the sound of his brother's voice behind him. He shoved the pages into his book bag and looked up. James stood over him, leaning against the trunk of the tree that was supporting Albus' back. The physical similarity between James and his father was startling. The same dark hair, bright green eyes. They even sounded the same.

"What are you hiding?" James laughed, and slid down along the tree next to him. Albus shoved his book bag to the side. "Love notes to Malfoy?" That same assurance too, the same cockiness. He was in his sixth year, two years older than Albus. They had never really been close, but James had always been there. A shadow over him, whether of protection or superiority he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

"No," he muttered.

"I'm just kidding, Albus." James elbowed him teasingly. "I hear you blew up some skrewts. That's great," he chuckled. "What did Dad say?"

Albus shrugged. "The usual. Stay out of trouble. Don't get expelled." He paused. "They've threatened to suspend me."

James' eyes widened. "_Suspend_ you? Jeez, it's not that bad. A few pranks."

"Yeah, that's what Dad said."

"Well it's ridiculous. Besides, they wouldn't suspend Harry Potter's boy."

"But I'm Slytherin. Most people don't even remember I'm his son. If they do, they think it's odd, like I'm some sort of screw up."

"Ah, that's dumb. You know, like Dad always says, one of the best wizards he knew was Slytherin."

Albus cringed. "Severus Snape. I'm not sure how much I appreciate my namesake."

James laughed. "Ah don't worry about it. If people don't want to get to know you for you, well their loss." He stood. "It's getting dark. Coming in?"

Albus rose. The lawns were almost empty now, the sky graying. James walked a little ahead of him, his strides naturally longer. But he glanced back, casting Albus an encouraging smile.

"Chin up, Dumbledore."

He laughed at the nickname. Only James and Lily called him that.

"Albus! Albus Severus Potter! Albus, no – " James' face was gaping, wide with a horror Albus could not understand. For a moment he tried to wrap his mind around it, to understand what was wrong. Then he was gone. Light – brilliant green flashed across his vision. It tore through him, searing cold. The words shocked through his veins like a knife along their edges. He couldn't even comprehend them. They were meaningless to him. But he was gone.

The earth was hard and cold beneath his back. He grimaced, pushing himself up. His ears rang, the edges of his brain stung. Something burned against the skin of his palm. For a moment he saw only the light, only the flash brighter than looking at the sun. Then he saw James.

How he lay, spread out like a limp doll. His eyes, slitted, rolled back. How his teeth clenched too tight for life.

There was no air. Darkness popped along the ends of his vision and he ground the heels of his hands against his temples. He gasped, once, choked, again, shuddered. No. What had happened? What had he done? What – No. What? He lurched forward on his knees. The ground reeled beneath him.

Sudden agony ripped through him, driving him to the ground again. The wand dug into his chest. He fought against it but it would not move. Sound finally caught up.

"Petrificus totalus!" People running, shouting, fear, shock, horror. Shadows passed over his vision, sometimes the edge of a body. But he could not move to see. "He's dead! He killed him!"

"What happened?"

"It's James Potter! God, he's dead!"

"Did you see it? Killing curse, straight at him. Who did it? Albus! Albus Potter!"

Professor Gillian – the Dark Arts teacher's – voice. "No! What happened? My God! Step back, step back! All of you, go to your halls. You, run for Ellwood." He felt the wand pull from between his fingers. "Finite Incantatem!"

He gasped, jerked, curled inward. "No! What – "

"Get up, Potter," Gillian snarled. Albus staggered to his feet, seeing for the first time. Students stood on the fringes of the lawn, gaping. Gillian stood between him and James, as though he feared Albus might attack the corpse. His wand was leveled at Albus' chest. "What have you done?"

"I don't know." His breath hitched. "Please, I don't – Oh no." He'd killed him. He'd killed James Potter. He'd killed his brother. His stomach lurched and he staggered back, the ground reeling beneath him. Someone caught his arm, steadying him.

"You're wand, Gillian." Professor Longbottom's voice quivered in his ear. Gillian didn't lower his wand, but Longbottom didn't seem to notice. "What happened, Albus?" He shook his head, his teeth clenching against nausea and fear. "Come on."

He kept his eyes on the ground as he was led up the lawn, past staring, whispering classmates, back into Hogwarts. The walk to the infirmary seemed endless. But at last they reached it and at last his legs gave out from beneath him. "Steady," Longbottom murmured, lowering him onto a bed. Madame Pomtre stood beside him, her wand ready. "What happened, Albus?" He shook his head again.

"I – I – " His voice shrank. "I killed him. I – " His stomach lurched upward and he vomited on the tiled floor. Longbottom's hands closed around his shoulders as he retched again and again until he could no more and sank trembling and sobbing back against the bed. Madame Pomtre whispered something and he was gone, his thoughts dark and empty.

* * *

The room was dark, cold, heavily silent. He wondered where he was. He ached. His stomach felt raw and his head pounded sickeningly with every beat of his heart. He groaned, tried to roll onto his knees, but toppled off balance. His hands were bound behind him.

Fear shot through him. He jerked his arms against the ropes to no avail. Again he struggled to right himself, this time managing to stay on his knees. His fast, panicked breath echoed in the silence. He edged forward until cold, rusty bars stopped him. He was in the dungeon then. Now his eyes were beginning to adjust to the near total darkness, broken only by the weak flickering of a lamp far down the hall. The horrible thought that they had left him here, to die, made his heart jolt in horror. But no, they would never do that. They couldn't. They must just be keeping him here until they could get him to Azkaban.

He felt sick again, cold sickness creeping inside him. He curled against the wall, shutting his eyes against the darkness. Azkaban. They would send him to Azkaban. He would stay there forever. He would die there. A terrified whimper escaped from his throat.

"Albus." His eyes flew open at Necrophilia's voice. Her pale face floated ghost-like in front of the bars.

"Phily! What – "

Her wand flared. "Alohmora! Diffindo!" The gates swung open and the ropes fell from his wrists. "Come on, hurry. I drugged the guard, but I don't know how well it worked."

He raced after her up the winding staircase, expecting at any moment someone to jump at them, to drag him back to the cell. But no one came. At the top of the stairs Necrophilia stopped and grabbed two brooms from where she had leaned them against the wall.

"Two, Phily – "

"I know you didn't do it, Albus!"

"But I – "

"I think you've been cursed. I don't know how, and I know your dad's an auror, but – " she shook her head. "_You_ wouldn't do that. But they won't think that. They have all this evidence against you, the marks, the Dark Arts notes – "

"What?"

She stammered, "I – I've seen them, Albus."

"And you still think – "

"I _know_. I watched you write the inferius notes. That wasn't you. It was like – like you were writing without thinking, like you were _doodling_. I can't let them send you to Azkaban. I just can't. I couldn't stand it, I couldn't live with it."

"But _two_, Phily. I only need one."

Her eyes met his, determined, begging. "I'm coming with you, Albus."

"But you can't – I can't come back, Phily. I'll be – I'll be hunted. You can't come. They'll think you were part of it."

"I don't care! I need to go with you. I – " Suddenly she moved, her body against him, her lips crashing into his, her hands twining behind his neck. It was a heartbeat before he responded, almost too late he knew. Then he was with her. She fit perfectly, inexplicably. But too soon her lips smacked away. He was suddenly aware of his own self again, his pulse exploding through him. Her eyes were huge and ice blue.

"Because I love you. So I'm coming." She held out her hand and her broom shot upward. He mounted his own, fighting to keep his balance as it swayed beneath him. He leaned forward and it shot away after her. They swept up, out into the Great Hall, hurtling toward the window at the far end. With a jolt of horror he realized what she intended, but he knew it was the only way out.

The glass shattered around him like a wave, the contact nearly jarring him from his broom. He shut his eyes tight against the flying shards and fought to keep his balance. He heard Necrophilia calling to him and forced himself to look ahead. She was veering off over the lake, southward. He shot after her, his broom shuddering beneath him. The air was sharp and hard against his face. He had never flown this fast in his life, but still faster, still higher they climbed. It seemed an eternity before they leveled off. Necrophilia floated alongside him, her glowing wand quivering as it magically led the way south.

"Where are we going?" he asked at last, suddenly embarrassed that he had know idea, no plan, no imagining of where they could be headed.

She looked at him, her face shocked, and he realized that she didn't know either. "I guess – I guess away. Far away. Out of the wizarding world, at least."

"Out of – but I've never been in the muggle world, what besides the train station. I have no idea where to go."

She was silent for a moment. When she spoke, for the first time she sounded afraid. "I know. I don't know. We'll – we'll figure it out though."

He wondered.


	2. Chapter 2

_A baby wailed. That was him. He stepped over the corpse and glided down the hall. The woman stood in front of the child's bed, her wand raised, her eyes desperate. As though she could stop him. Ludicrous. Apparently she realized her own hopeless fate, for though she did not discard the wand, she begged._

_ "Please," her voice quivered. "Please! Me, not him."_

_ He laughed, cold and sharp. She had no idea. "Avada Kedavra!" She fell instantly. He took a step forward, he could see the child, screaming, his fists clenched like his eyes. Ugly. He flicked his wand. _

_ And there was pain, horrible, unimaginable pain. And for a heartbeat he realized that something had gone wrong. And then he was gone._

"Albus!" He jerked, his hand going instinctively for the wand. He couldn't breathe, his heart was tearing so hard at his chest. He felt her hand on his shoulder and clenched his fists, trying to calm himself.

It was late; the club was empty except for himself and Necrophilia. It had been his night to close down. He must have fallen asleep waiting for her. He had been working here for two months now, even though he was underage by muggle standards. Apparently such stipulations didn't matter so much in the belly parts of London.

He let his head drop back to his arms with a weary sigh. It was his fault they were here at all; he had no room to complain. A familiar ache tightened in his chest. Two months since they'd left Hogwarts and the wizarding world forever. Two months since he'd murdered his own brother. He shuddered.

"Come on, Albus," she said, her voice gentle and compassionate. Her arm went around his shoulders, urging him to stand. Slowly he rose to his feet, felt himself swaying against the sudden movement and the fatigue and the old, never-ebbing emotions he'd somehow pent up inside himself.

"What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Four in the morning. I would have come earlier but there was a holdup in the tubes."

"You should have just gone home."

She laughed softly. "You would have stayed here all night. Let's go." She slipped her arm around his waist and he returned the gesture, hanging his arm about her shoulders. Together they made their way out onto the street. The tubes were nearly empty this time of night and they found a seat away from the few remaining passengers. Albus sat on the outside and lay his head back on the seat. Phily was asleep by the time they had passed the first stop.

But Albus couldn't sleep. Now that he was awake again, a thousand thoughts churned in his mind, things he had gone over time and again. The most pressing worries: how they would pay the rent for their tiny flat, if they would have enough to buy even basic necessities. But deeper concerns flooded his mind as well. He worried about Phily. She had plunged into this without really knowing what was ahead. It wasn't right that she should be punished for what he had done. But he could not convince her to return to her family, to the life she was made for. To the life he was made for.

He shook his head. He _knew_ he couldn't go back. But still he longed for the comfort of Hogwarts, of his own family and home. His fingers itched for the feel of a wand. His had been taken by Professor Gillian and Phily didn't dare use hers for fear of being caught. Alerting the magical tracking within an underage's wand was a sure way to call down the authorities. He wondered if a wizard could go mad without his wand, without some release of the magic that flowed through him like the blood in his veins. Eventually something had to give.

He could feel himself edging toward the end. The moment he would break into pure madness. The dreams were getting only worse, more vivid and more frequent. Every night now, and more often during the day too. There were days that he couldn't remember huge chunks of his time. Only the dreams. And he was angry. He strove to hide the irrational rage that seemed to pulse through him, but it was there like a monster crouching in the darkness. He was beginning to hate this city and its stupid, dirty, boring muggles. Just thinking about them made his skin crawl, and he was surrounded by them every day and every night. Even Phily was beginning to grate his nerves. Her graciousness toward the muggles, as though she were one of them, as though they deserved her and she deserved them. The ease with which she seemed to handle their descent into a scrabbling, desperate,

magic-less life. And he was angry with himself. Furious and disgusted that he was becoming this – this true Slytherin. All his life he'd fought against the stereotype, and now he was fulfilling it. He _had_ fulfilled it in the most horrific way possible.

He closed his eyes. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't. He _would_ go mad. He fought with the memory, struggling to keep it from engulfing him.

"There's a dark magic about ya."

Albus jumped at the words, at the voice that had delivered them. It was deep, old, gravelly, and practically in his ear. But it was the words themselves that sent a chill through him. Slowly he turned, letting himself look at the stranger. An old man in the seat next to him. He could have sworn that that seat had been empty just a moment ago. Surely he would have heard it fill. The man looked like an ordinary muggle. But he was staring straight ahead. His face was gnarled and weathered; his body seemed somehow small and powerful at once; his hands lay crooked and leathery in his lap.

"What?" The word sounded strange, stupid coming from him. It seemed to hover in the air above him, as though he hadn't really said it, as though the old man hadn't really said what he had said. Surely not.

The man turned slowly to look at him. His eyes were bright blue and very clear despite their age. The expression on his face was one of absolute, almost frightening seriousness. "You have a dark magic about you."

"Wha – why do you say that?" The man stared at him. Albus felt fear growing in him, mixing with a morbid fascination in this strange creature. He swallowed against the shock stuck in his throat. "I'm not – I'm not a dark wizard."

The ghost of a smile twitched over the man's face. "You think."

Albus' heart started to pound. "I know. I couldn't be – it's impossible."

The old man shook his head and glanced out the window. "Your stop."

Albus started. So it was. He gently shook Necrophilia. She stirred, moaning at the disturbance. "Come on, it's our stop." She stretched to her feet.

"Already? Who were you talking too?"

"What? Oh, him – " He turned but the old man was gone. He glanced frantically for him, and just managed caught sight of him disappearing from the platform. "Him! Er – he's gone now. But it was an old man. Just a stranger." He glanced again but the man was gone. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not," she yawned. "I was just wondering."

"Well he's gone now and we're here."

"Mmm-hmm." She looped her arm in his and lay her head on his shoulder, almost asleep on her feet. He kissed the top of her head. "Come on, Phily. Just a little bit."

But he couldn't help taking one last look over his shoulder. The platform was empty. Whoever the man had been, he was gone now.

* * *

It had been a week. Albus had long since stopped worrying about the old man. He had more immediate concerns. The club was overflowing tonight. He raced to fill orders as patrons continued to trickle in. The show tonight was drawing in more than usual. For a moment he let his mind stray to Necrophilia. Her shift at the Tesco would be almost over by now. But he was working late night again.

He stumbled into a reveler, tipping the precariously balanced, drink-laden tray toward the man. "Hey!" the stranger slurred angrily. "Watch it!"

He frantically tried to regain his balance, making a grab to steady the sloshing glasses. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, steering away. At last the tray was delivered and for a moment he stood empty-handed. Then he saw him.

He recognized him for who he was immediately. It had been so long since he'd seen magic that now it stood out like a beacon, drawing him. The wizard was cloaked in dark, silken robes, but he wouldn't seem so strange here, where everyone was trying to escape normalcy. But to Albus' eyes he was a not drunken, underground freak. He was watching him.

Albus made his way across the packed room, never taking his eyes from the man, afraid he would disappear, as he knew he very well could. But then he was standing before him, loose-jawed, staring wide as an amazed child. The wizard stared too, his eyes chillingly deep, probing. Albus swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

"Albus Severus Potter." The words were slow, meticulous, emotionless.

His head jerked almost involuntarily in a nod. "Yeah. Who are you?" Something about the man made his skin crawl. He was the first of his kind Albus had seen in months, and all he wanted was get away from him.

"I am Marcus Grindlen. Don't worry," he said smoothly, "I'm not from the Ministry. No one knows you're here."

"Well then, wh-what do you want? I can't go back, you know that."

A twisted smile. "Of course. I wouldn't expect you to. You were never appreciated there anyway. You have so much more worth – so much power than any of them could imagine."

Something sick and cold curled in Albus' stomach. "What do you mean? I – I have to get back to work," he started to turn but some force held him back. He turned, panicking. "Let me go!"

"You couldn't go if I did. You would always come back. You belong with us."

"With who? Who are you?" He saw the man's wand moved and started, but there was nothing. The wizard smiled slowly. "It's best this conversation were private I believe. But you know who I am, don't you."

And somehow he did. Like an instinct, like a part of his soul. He knew. He knew what they wanted. He felt sick, terrified.

"I'm not Him, you know! I don't want any part of it. I couldn't help what I did, it just happened. I'm not a Death Eater! I just – I can't – control it. Please, let me go." His protests dwindled off uselessly.

"You think you're not Him? You know less about yourself than is good for you. Don't you know what horcruxes are?"

"Of course I know what – " he fell short, grimacing at the knowledge.

"You know what happened to your mother, don't you? She never told you she was possessed? Ah, I see while everyone was so occupied with your father they forgot little Ginny. Didn't he ever tell you about the Chamber of Secrets? You think Voldemort wasn't so clever he couldn't find a way around your petty magic? Horcruxes," he scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

"He was the greatest wizard that ever lived. A creature like that makes his own magic. When your mother was possessed by the horcrux in Tom Riddle's diary, a part of his soul entered her. There it lay dormant for many years until finally it passed into the body of another, someone weak and vulnerable. The piece of Voldemort's soul bound with the spark of your new life and it grew, like a parasite feeding off its host. It wrapped its roots around you until your bound souls became inextricable. You are Albus Severus Potter, and you are Lord Voldemort."

The words echoed in Albus' head, meaningless, impossible. He couldn't think them, or they might be true. But slowly they began to sink in, insidious, like a drop of blood spreading through syrup. Because he knew this was true too, now that he heard it aloud, now that it was presented to his conscious mind as well. But still he shook his head.

"So? I'm still me, I'm not – evil!"

"But you know you can't control it. And you can feel it growing, can't you? The hatred, the power. It's who you are, it's your destiny. You are a great young wizard, Albus, and such natural talent should not be wasted."

"I'm _not _a Death Eater! I won't join you!"

"Don't join us, Albus. Lead us."

He felt a surge of excitement. For the briefest moment he saw it. He saw himself at their head, an all-powerful, unstoppable force. He knew he could do it. He could bring peace to the wizarding world, an end to the brutal muggle legacy. He would rule, omniscient and omnipotent. Glorious.

No. It wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true, because beyond the wonder of it he could see the truth. He could see the road to his own power, the end too. He knew what Voldemort had done to them all, and he knew he could never. The thought of hurting someone else was repulsive. He had done enough already.

"Let me go. I won't." He felt the bind loose and he turned away.

"Oh you will. You will join us. It is your destiny. And someday you will see, you will understand. Someday you will you lead us."

* * *

He swung open the door of the apartment. It was late, and the front-room was dark. Phily should be back by now. The apartment was small, only one bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen. The light was on in the bedroom that he and Necrophilia shared. He hesitated, uncertainty prickling under his skin.

"Phily?" he called, pushing open the bedroom door. Her bed was empty. Fear shot through him. He began to turn back out when the writing caught his eye. His stomach lurched and he staggered forward, his eyes flashing over the message scrawled across the wall over his bed.

_ You will join us._

No. They couldn't. She couldn't be –

Slowly he reached out, his hand trembling, to touch the sign. Something jerked behind his belly button, dragging him forward, and he was gone. The roaring in his ears filled everything, consuming him, and the pulling, the pulling until he thought he would be ripped apart. Then he was there, lying on cold flagstone. He gasped for air, spinning to his feet, his hand flying instantly to his wand pocket. But of course it wasn't there. He hadn't had a wand since it had been taken from him at Hogwarts. He had refused to take Phily's.

It was a perfectly round room, deep underground he felt. The high vaulted ceiling echoed every sound of movement, every breath. Slowly he turned. There were three of them. Only three. The man from the bus, another man, and Marcus. And there was Phily. The third man held her behind the others, his wand to her throat.

Anger surged through him, blind, hot fury. He stumbled forward. "Let her go! Don't you dare touch her!"

Marcus raised his wand and Albus lurched to a stop. "I told you that you would join us. How shall it be, Potter? You will learn one way or another. Yes, be angry. Hate us. It is your strength. It brings out the best in you, Potter."

Suddenly a scream ripped through the chamber. Phily lay on the floor, writhing in pain. The third man's lips moved in the command even as it took effect. Albus surged forward, every fiber of his being rushing out to her. The air exploded green around him and the man fell. Again he felt power bursting from him, uncontrollable. But just as quickly it was over. He felt the flagstone slam against his side, pressing into him, crushing him.

"Good, good. Not even Voldemort could kill a man unarmed. You just need to channel that."

"You bastard! Let her go!" He struggled to rise under the weight of Marcus' spell. He could hear Phily sobbing, the sound ripping through his chest more cruelly than any curse.

"Not until you bless me," Marcus laughed. "You know what I want, you know what you really want. Just accept it, Albus, and it will all be over."

Slowly he forced himself to relax, and lay panting like a trapped animal. His mind raced frantically, searching for some way out. There had to be a way out. He couldn't do this alone. Marcus was right. He had more power than any wizard could have every dreamed of. He could feel it pulsing through him, filling him. But if he couldn't control it he had no chance against Marcus' experience. The older wizard would stop him before he could even think to make a move.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. Only one person could help him now. Slowly he felt himself slipping away, bit by bit. By the time Marcus noticed, he would be gone. Then, all in a rush, he shot away. For the briefest moment he felt himself suffocating, expanding painfully. Then he was through. He felt the carpet in his mother's drawing room soft beneath him. He heard his mother's cry and felt her hands on him.

"Albus!"

He jerked upright, his eyes taking in her face. It was wide with fear and shock. "Mum! Where's Dad? Please – "

Her hands cupped under his face, steadying him. "Albus, your father's at the Ministry. What happened! I've been scared to death! Where have you been?"

"London, with Necrophilia Malfoy. The Death Eaters have her. They're gonna kill her – " his voice choked off in terror.

"What?" she whispered, settling back on her heels. "Death Eaters? You've been with Death Eaters?"

"No, Mum, they found us. Please, I need Dad. They're going to kill her."

"Ok, ok. I'll call him through the floo network." She sprang to her feet and hurried to the fireplace. There she fished a handful of powder from a jar on the mantel and tossed it in. Green flames flickered up, and she knelt and lowered her face into the fire. A moment of silence, and then she spoke, her voice low and fast.

"Harry, it's Albus. Yes he's here, at the house. No, he's in trouble, Harry. I don't know. He said – he said Death Eaters have Necrophilia Malfoy. He's a mess, Harry, something horrible's happened. You need to come home _now_. Alright." She pulled back out and looked back at Albus. "He's coming."

A moment later his father materialized in the fireplace. He lay eyes on Albus and rushed forward. His hands closed around Albus' shoulders, shaking him roughly.

"What do you mean, Death Eaters? What happened, Albus?"

"Harry!" At his wife's frightened cry he drew back, took a shuddering breath.

"What happened, Albus?"

"They found me – they found me at the club," he stammered, choked, panic crashing over him in waves. There was no time!

His father's voice was held calm, careful. His hands were gentle now on Albus' arms. "Calm down. Just think."

He nodded, closed his eyes, forced himself to think. "He told me – he told me I was possessed. That's why – that's why I killed – James. In the Chamber of Secrets, when mum was possessed by the horcrux, part of it stayed in her, and now it's moved into me. Like – like a parasite or something. That's what the Death Eater's want. They think they can use me, can teach me to control my power. They think I can lead them. They took Phily to try to force me to join them. Dad, they used the cruciatus curse on her. I can't let her die! It's my fault. Please, I don't know what to do."

"Alright, where did they take her?"

Horror washed over him. "I – I don't know. I reached them through a portkey they left. Then I got here by disapparating – "

"You – you disapparated? But how – "

"Dad, I've been possessed by a piece of Voldemort's soul! I just did."

"Then you can get us back. How many Death Eaters were there?"

"Just three. But I – I killed one."

"I agree then. There's no time to wait. Ginny?" She nodded, taking his hand as he lay his other hand on Albus' shoulder. "Just close your eyes and picture the place. If you got here, you can get back."

Albus pressed his eyes closed and let his mind slide into the memory of the room. The gray flagstones, the gray walls, the rows of locked doors along the sides, the buzzing electric lights hanging from the ceiling. Then there was the pressing, the rushing, and he was there, and the air was exploding around him.

"Albus!" His mother's voice screamed over the roaring of his father's curse colliding with Marcus'. "Get down!" She shoved him back so hard he sprawled onto the flagstones. Marcus and the old man stood where he had left them, their wands raised against his parents. Their curses shattered in the air above them. Phily lay behind the Death Eaters, motionless.

He sprang forward, darting across the vast expanse of the room. Suddenly a curse slammed into his side like a strike of lightning, knocking him hard from his feet. He heard his mother's scream through the bursting in his ears. He heard Marcus' angry curse.

"Fool! You'll kill him!"

"He'll kill us all if he gets the chance!"

"Petrificus – "

"Expeliarmus!" Marcus' curse shattered off the ceiling as his wand spun from his grasp, swept away by Albus' command.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It was cold. No, really it was nothing. The absence of life was cold. And dark. And crushingly silent. There was no pain, but there was nothing else either. There was just nothing.

But then there was something. The figure of a man. No, a wizard. A figure he'd seen only in his dreams. His edges seemed to shimmer, to waver slightly, as though Albus' eyes were just barely watering. But he stood before him in an expanse of white.

Voldemort smiled. "It is strange. To be separate again. But you have never known what it is like to be alone. Well, how do you like it?" Subtly caustic. "Do you feel, perhaps, weaker? Because you are. Since I was your true power, your greatest knowledge, and now I am gone, I imagine you do feel very vulnerable."

But he didn't feel vulnerable. He felt light. He felt he was full of light and clean air. He felt vibrant. He felt brilliant. He felt good. The soul of him, his soul – without a clinging evil – felt free.

Voldemort stared at him, confusion for the first time crossing his face. "What do you mean you feel 'good'? Only one of us can return, the other must pass on. And it shall not be me. I shall destroy the last son of Harry Potter, and when I return alone to your young, strong body – my body – I shall destroy the man himself. And then, at last, the world will be free of all threat to my existence. I shall be immortal. Have you aught to say for yourself?"

Albus shrugged. He didn't feel like he would be destroyed. He knew in some unconscious part of his being that he should be afraid, naturally. But this was not natural; this was some strange, deep magic that he knew not even Voldemort understood. He felt that he had the high ground. He felt good.

Voldemort stared at him for a few more moments, the confusion on his face growing to apprehension. But still he stepped back, he raised his bone hand, his said the words.

But nothing happened. Because as soon as he raised his hand Albus spoke.

"Expeliarmus."

And then he turned away.

* * *

Every part of him hurt. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to think. But slowly he grew aware of something besides pain. He heard his mother's voice, low and worried. He saw the steady red hump on the screen that meant he was alive. He felt sheets soft and warm all around him. He must be in St. Mungo's. But beyond all that, deep within himself, he felt clean.

"Mum," he called, his voice sounding weak to his own ears. Immediately she was at his side, her hand clasped around his.

"Yes, Albus?" her voice was soft and tight, as though she had been crying.

"Where's Phily?"

"She's fine. She's in the next room. She's perfectly fine."

"What happened?"

She breathed a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a relieved laugh. "Do you remember any of it?"

He nodded carefully. "Up to the killing curse. Then – I must have been dreaming."

"The curse must have missed you somehow. Your father killed the older Death Eater. The other one is in Azkaban by now. We thought he'd hit you, but it must have been the other one, the one that knocked you down. I've never seen anything like it. The doctors can't decide if it was the curse or the fall that hurt you worse. You've broken a few things, but those will heal, thank goodness." She kissed his hand. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," he grinned painfully. "But good. I think he's gone. Voldemort I mean." His words trailed off wearily, and he felt his mind drifting away.

"It's just – me now."

For the first time in a long time there were no dreams.


End file.
